


Affliction

by Luthienberen



Category: The Private Life of Sherlock Holmes (1970)
Genre: Fluff and Humor, Friendship, Light Angst, Love, M/M, Supernatural Elements, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-11 14:31:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16477340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luthienberen/pseuds/Luthienberen
Summary: Watson is awoken by Holmes who has just returned from a case. However, he discovers that Holmes is not the same as when he left.





	Affliction

**Author's Note:**

> Part of the October Spooktacular challenge (just in by my teeth!) and using the monthly words: hallowed, biscuit and unquiet. I had TPLOSH in my head when I wrote this :)

The chink of glass and the light shining under my door awoke me. Blinking sleep away I sat up to hear the thud of my book hitting the floor. Reaching down for the book I grimaced at the biscuit crumbs now scattered on the floor. I had been waiting up for Holmes, expecting his return from visiting an exiled Polish Count on a matter of great secrecy and urgency.

Holmes had been gone a week before I received a telegram stating he should be back sometime tonight. Eager to discover the particulars of the case and to establish whether Holmes had actually _eaten_ something I clambered out of bed with great haste.

I donned my dressing gown over my rumpled nightshirt and my slippers, doubting that Holmes had partaken in anything of more than water as the man needed reminding about nourishment on a daily basis.

Decently attired as long as Mrs Hudson did not come looking for us, I headed into the living room.

“What in earth!”

Holmes was indeed returned, but he had laid out his chemistry apparatus and spread the contents of my Gladstone bag about the room. Surveying the mess with horror I looked up into Holmes’ worried expression.

An unquiet feeling struck me for Holmes was clad only in his shirt and trousers. His feet were bare, shirt sleeves rolled up, his hair a rumpled mess and his features held a harried look that frightened me. Now I saw in his right hand a syringe he had used to draw blood. Greatly alarmed I flew across the room to his side.

“Holmes, are you ill? Why have you taken a sample of your blood?”

I touched his exposed arm where he had taken his blood and marvelled at the fact there was no sign of a puncture mark. Yet…the blood was fresh and not congealing in the syringe. Even more uneasy, I gently ran my fingers over the area, noticing with a shiver, how cold Holmes’ skin was to touch.

Glancing up, I saw Holmes observing me cautiously, though he offered a brief smile when he met my gaze.

His teeth seemed sharper than previously…

“Holmes..?” my voice was quiet, strained for my unease was increasing.

“Watson, don’t be alarmed. I am as well as can be expected.”

“As _expected_?”

Holmes actually smiled and put aside his syringe on the desk carefully. He laid his free hand on my hand still resting on his exposed arm. His palm and fingers were icy like death, and I should know for I have touched many a corpse.

His nails were longer than normal. My stomach flipped at some nameless dread.

“I do love how your moustache bristles when you’re emotional Watson, but do keep it down.”

“My goodness man,” I replied, absorbing his terribly pale features, more wan than their wont, “you are as cold as the grave and look as if you are ailing from consumption. How can I _not_ be worried?”

Holmes smiled sadly, showing his teeth again and I stiffened. His canines were sharp…sharp like surgical knives.

“My…condition is the result of the Polish Count I was aiding. He was an unusual man Watson, suffering from an affliction he chose to share with me.”

“Affliction?” I said, that nameless dread snaring my heart.

Holmes laughed silently, and the temperature in room seemed to drop.

“His affliction grants increased longevity and strength at a price.”

I couldn’t speak, but remained frozen in place with Holmes arm under my hand, and his hand over mine with his eyes trapping my soul.

“I am a vampire Watson.”

It was a perfectly ridiculous statement to make yet utterly Holmes, so I groped with my free hand for my stethoscope which was lying near us. Holmes released me so I could perform my examination.

Holmes’ chest was as white as his face, arms and hands and as cold to touch. With the metal over his heart I listened for his heartbeat.

I listened in vain.

Exhaling, I removed my stethoscope and tried taking Holmes’ pulse.

No pulse.

Eyeing Holmes’ mouth, my friend obligingly opened and I ran my fingers over his sharp elongated canines which grew in length in response to my ministrations.

“Why your teeth are as sharp as my surgical knives…ouch!”

I hissed and withdrew my pierced fingers where blood was now swelling. Holmes’ abrupt inhalation grabbed my attention.

His eyes were black, canines…no, fangs, terribly long and gleaming in the gas light. His crimson tongue lapped at the canine that had stung my flesh and a groan of dreadful hunger and ecstasy rolled from Holmes.

I had seen Maiwand and much since, but that dreadful sound rent my soul with terror. I only stayed still due to a mixture of self-preservation, love and the thought of Mrs Hudson and the maid asleep in their rooms, unarmed and ignorant of what was occurring in our rooms.

Holmes stepped back , visibly wrestling for control, even as he reached for me.

I could rarely resist Holmes and when my dear friend so obviously needed me, resisting was not in the question. I stepped forward and pressed my bleeding finger against Holmes’ lips.

“Watson,” he whispered in shock before hungrily sucking my digit inside his mouth that was strangely warm in comparison to the rest of him.

The sensation of my blood being drunk nearly took my knees from under me and I clutched at Holmes with my free hand. Swiftly, Holmes embraced me and if I had wished to retreat it would have been impossible, for his grip was as inescapable the grave.

Or as the grave ought to be.

Yet when my breath began hitching and my body suffused with delicious warmth, Holmes paused and released my finger, now healed.

“How splendid,” I exhaled shakily.

Holmes chuckled, eyes nearly normal and cheeks slightly flushed. “Only my Watson could say such a thing after learning his friend is a monstrous fiend, who had just supped on his blood.”

“Just like my Holmes then, who, after _becoming_ a vampire, returned home to carry out experiments rather than wake his dearest companion to assist him?”

Holmes had the grace to look sheepish, which unfortunately passed all too quickly.

“So I am forgiven then? You do not hate what I am?”

“Never, with the following caveat: you never go on case alone again as evidently you need supervision. We don’t need a case of werewolfery as well.”

“You do not fancy growing extra hair Watson? Your moustache is most fine and any werewolf would be proud to have such an accomplishment to begin with.”

“You’re incorrigible Holmes, but for now let me lie down before I fall down. We may begin tomorrow deducing how much blood you require to sustain you, without draining Mrs Hudson or the maid dry. Or preferably overdoing it with drinking from me.”

Holmes’s worried expression finally lifted and he kissed me on my forehead with great affection. His long nails grazed me through my dressing gown and nightshirt causing tremors to run through me at their touch: the hint of their ability to rent skin, flesh and muscle in the mere pass over my back.

I kissed Holmes at the corner of his mouth to distract myself from such alarming thoughts. Holmes hummed in happiness and led me with alacrity to his bedroom. I did not protest until I saw the state of his bed once the covers were drawn back.

“Blood and soil? Goodness gracious Holmes, why?!”

“Hallowed earth my dear Watson,” replied Holmes with a sniff as he reapplied the covers and removed my dressing gown before encouraging me to the bed. Rather reluctantly I obliged and reclined, aware of what was underneath me.

“I thought vampires couldn’t bear anything holy?” I said to try and not focus on the fact only my nightshirt and a thin cover separated my body from…well.

“Hmmm, so far that appears true,” said Holmes as he fetched blankets which he laid over both of us when he laid down beside me.

“For when I tried entering a church the result was rather unpleasant – no, don’t fret my dear, you shall know all in good time Watson.”

 I grumbled, but curled up next to Holmes grateful for the blankets and now slightly warmed body of Holmes. The great vampire detective turned so he could drape an arm over me and continued with his musings.

“Yet even so…a vampire’s nature still yearns for sanctified earth. Perhaps because we were once buried with sacred rites and a part of us wishes to once more unite with the holy, instead of being divided forever from good?”

Really, this was too much for me to think about clearly after the revelation of learning Holmes was a vampire, let alone after I had let Holmes drink from me with the prospect of the further sharing of blood.

“I believe you were correct in your sentiment Holmes, “all in good time”. We can figure out the details once you have had some nourishment _and_ sleep.”

Holmes grinned and this time his fangs did not frighten me as much as previously. Instead I let my eyes drift shut with the only thought being how to conceal from Mrs Hudson a bed full of blood (whose I wonder?) and hallowed earth.

**Author's Note:**

> The bed of blood is inspired by Polish folklore where one type of male vampire, prefers to sleep in blood.


End file.
